Page 37 of Branded By the Cowboy

“Angus?” she whispers, voice thick with sleep. “Hey… what’s wrong?”

I can’t look at her.

I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and scrub both hands down my face. My body shakes, and my muscles are locked like they still expect a fight.

She sits up behind me, the blanket slipping from her shoulders. “Was it a nightmare?”

I nod. Barely.

She places her hand on my back, her touch light and tentative. “Come back to bed,” she murmurs.

“I’m fine,” I lie. My voice sounds like gravel. “Go back to sleep.”

“Angus—”

“I said I’m fine.” Sharper this time. Too sharp.

She flinches. I hate myself for it.

I stand and pull on my jeans, needing space, needing air, needingout. I don’t even bother with a shirt, heading downstairs and stepping outside, barefoot and bare-chested, into the cold night.

The porch boards creak under my feet. The stars are sharp above me, too clear, too endless. The air bites my skin. It should ground me. It doesn’t.

I grip the railing and stare at the fields, breathing like I’m still under rubble.

Beckett pulled me out.

I lived.

And sometimes I don’t know why.

The wind whistles low through the pasture fence. Somewhere in the barn, a horse shuffles and snorts. Inside the house, it’s quiet again. Too quiet.

You can’t protect her from this.

The thought cuts clean. True and cruel.

She deserves better than nightmares and silence. Better than a man who wakes up in a panic and pushes her away instead of letting her in.

I brace my arms on the railing and lower my head.

I married her to give her something stable.

But I never expected her to become the thingIneed.

The thought that I might have endangered her by bringing her here—that I might fail to protect her—scares the hell out of me.

Because I’m in love with my wife.

Chapter10

Luna

The wind howls like it wants to rip the trees out by their roots. I’ve already filled every jug, kettle, and mason jar in the kitchen, stacked blankets by the fireplace, and lit the oil lamps before the power flickered.

The storm rolled in fast—gray skies turning charcoal, then ink—and Clover Canyon doesn’t play. The temperature dropped ten degrees in under an hour. The barn cats vanished, the goats fell silent, and even Jingle burrowed herself under Shay’s blanket like she knew something was coming.

I'm too familiar with disasters to waste energy on fear. All I need to do is keep my hands moving and my mouth shut. Make myself useful. That's how you survive when the world turns sideways—you become whatever the moment demands.

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